Cynthia Nixon Shows the Cutting Side of Emily Dickinson in A Quiet Passion

It may surprise you to hear it, but A Quiet Passion, the biopic about Emily Dickinson from the rather rarefied British director Terence Davies, would make a helluva double feature with 8 Mile.

The disses dropped from the second floor of the Dickinsons’ Amherst home mangle and maim anyone who dares enter her cypher, be they suitors, fans, editors, or, in time, members of her own family. Cynthia Nixon’s Emily hurls barbs with the precision of ninja stars in a “one for the ages” performance, making this, in a very strange way, a movie that screams for audience participation.

Which is not to say that A Quiet Passion is in a campy look at the beloved poet’s life. Davies goes for an almost stage-like stylization that, quite frankly, requires a moment or two to get your ear adjusted. Nixon follows a line of sharp leading ladies in Davies’s recent work, after Agyness Deyn in Sunset Song, Rachel Weisz in The Deep Blue Sea, and Gillian Anderson in The House of Mirth. His films have grown more insular and talkative, and A Quiet Passion is farthest afield from the music-soaked, camera-eye approach of earlier masterpieces Distant Voices, Still Lives, and The Long Day Closes.

The story begins with teen Emily (Emma Bell) defiant in the face of her strict teachers at Mount Holyoke college. She’s sprung from school by her family, and allowed room to engage in the scribbling of verse by her lenient father, so long as she does it at night. There’s not much else for white women of status to do in this society, other than to primp themselves for eventual marriage—a topic about which Emily has, shall we say, mixed feelings.

Time marches on, and as Emily’s wit sharpens, her social skills begin to atrophy. By the end, she’s so repulsed by the hypocrisies of society she has all but imprisoned herself in her small, second-story bedroom. Though that’s not quite how she (or Davies) sees it: she’s up there creating something lasting and true.

Thankfully, there are no scenes of Emily Dickinson agonizing to express herself with a quill in her hand. We do hear quotations from her work (including a few that even I, an admitted poetry novice, recognize) that sometimes-but-not-always work in counterpoint to the accompanying image. Most of the film takes place at the Dickinson homestead, in a drawing room, or the small garden outside. And while there isn’t a great deal of plot per se, the comings-and-goings of Emily’s parents, sister, brother, and, particularly, her outspoken friend Vryling (Catherine Bailey) make for a fast-paced collection of novelistic moments. A scene with the Reverend’s wife and her refusal to drink anything but plain water is an absolute scream.

Vryling’s decision to get married is among the film’s great tragedies. Emily does not pine for her, but it is seen as a betrayal to the character’s own beliefs. Emily, though at first more shy, ends up becoming more strident than her friend—and maybe even an atheist as well. She draws creative strength from her nonconformity, but is also overwhelmed by the exhaustion that comes with intransigence. Emily’s eventual illness is looked upon almost as an ascetic transference, which might be artistic license on Davies’s part—but certainly makes for harrowing cinema. (Between this and James White, I think I’m good on watching Cynthia Nixon howl in pain from a sickbed, though.)

Biopics about great artists are usually horrible. But when they are made by great artists themselves, exceptions can and should be made. A Quiet Passion is one of the most unique and mesmerizing films of the year. I can’t wait to see it a second time—maybe around December, when we start thinking about best-actress nods. Really, though, I just need another chance to jot down Emily’s best cutting remarks.